To Lilly
by YellowRosesAndHearts
Summary: Scotty wonders why he's still here. Stalker spoilers. LS friendship.


On days like this, I ask myself why I'm still here.

When I started this unit, I meant it to be a stepping stone for me. A filler job, perusin' thirty year old cases I had no chance of solving. Cause lets face it, cold squad ain't where you wanna be if you want any sorta acclaim. It was a pretty good gig for a twenty-eight year old beat cop, though, so I took it with the mental understanding that I'd be moved up in two years.

In Philly, bein' in cold squad's considered comparable to being in exile. I know for a fact that Lilly didn't want to be here at first—she had those well-honed cop instincts so down pat that it seemed like a colossal waste to dump her here. On our first case together, I watched her with this dumbfounded fascination, and wondered what genius had decided to assign her to this unit. He had to be high. Just had to be.

"We're preparing to shoot."

"What? You're gonna hit one of ours!"

"Don't you tell me—"

Next thing I know, I'm all up in his face. People are just so damn _careless._ They don't think about a damn thing before they do it, they just wanna get home to their peas and carrots and nightly news. I can't deal with that in people; it's why I became a cop.

Kat demurely puts her hand on her elbow to calm me down. But I can't calm down, it's nowhere in me.

There ain't too many things worse than being held hostage. I mean, there can't be, all that _waiting, _that horrible _waiting, _to die, to live—it's absolute torture. I'm a jumpy guy by nature, and that anticipation doesn't do me good.

But I realize, having been in the situation twice now, that there may be one thing in the world worse than that.

It's sittin' outside, knowing someone you care about with absolutely everything you _have _is in there, and wishing so bad it could be you in there, you, because they don't deserve it. It's having to listen to some bastard of a negotiator who wouldn't know his knee caps from his ass hole presuming to know what's best for them.

I told Lilly this afternoon that I would protect her. I have this thing in me, an innate need to preserve the people I love, to shield them from harm, even if it means something bad for me. It's not a selflessness that drives it; it's just that I'm bad at loving. I love too much, too fast, too hard. And that's not a strength.

_You need anything just say… hey._

Kat, lurking at my shoulder, looks dazed. She's seen this stuff in narcotics, saw it every day, and it didn't phase her a bit. I'm sure she thought that by workin' the cold ones she'd never have to deal with the bosses breathin' down our necks, the suspect standoffs, all that. I know she thought that she'd pay her dues and skate on out, just like I did. I know better now. I'm gonna be here the rest of my life, even if I don't stay.

And that's the way it is now. We're all here cause we can't imagine bein' anywhere else.

"We're ready! We're in position! Tell them to get down!"

I do as I'm told, mostly because in that space I can't come up with a better idea. I text Vera back, hopin' to high heaven that he can achieve some subtlety. I like Nick, I really, truly do, but I'd feel more comfortable giving this message to Stillman. To Lilly. To the _shades _for chrissake.

The snipers get into position, and I can feel myself trippin' out. What if Vera couldn't get the message out? What if the guy's using on of ours as a shield? What if one of these morons MISSES THE SHOT? Then what?

"Breathe, Scotty," Kat says.

She's a true narc. Thick-skinned, calm-under-pressure, watchful. No matter how bad the situation is, she never changes.

I'm not like that.

"I don't have a good feeling about this, Kat."

She meets my eyes through her long curls. "Me neither," she says, and somehow that makes me feel better.

"I didn't know this was what I was signin' on for when I started. This is a goddamn cold squad, and my partner's been held hostage twice in the past two years. What is that?"

She almost grins. "So quit."

I shoot her a look, trying not to betray the fact that I've considered that option and can't do it. "You could never quit, of course," she says. "You're dedicated."

It's the truth. "I'm not sure what to, sometimes."

"To Lilly."

The succinctness of that explanation gets to me. Lilly's always the thing I see when I consider leaving, I always imagine myself trying to work with someone else. In the end, it just never makes sense to me. I have everything I need here.

The idiot negotiator comes over to us.

"Someone's been hit, white male in his fifties."

Kat's eyes get big. "That's our lieutenant."

For the second time in ten minutes, I'm gripping him up, imaginin' how nice it would be to be able to grind him up and feed him to the sewer grates.

"I _told _you not to take the shot!"

He yells back some choice curse words at me, and just as I'm preparin' for a well placed right hook in his jaw, Kat snags me by the back of my jacket. The asshole goes off muttering some crap about "this guys fucking crazy" and all that. And I may well _be _fucking crazy, but at least I'm not an incompetent idiot.

Is this what we've got to work with? I promised Lilly, _swore _I'd protect her this afternoon. But how'm I supposed to do that through this bastard? I told her I'd be there for her, but I'm out here and she's in there, and it's all talk.

"Kat. I've gotta go in there."

She gives me the mother hen look like she wants to tell me it's a bad idea, but she seems to decide against it. Nothing she says could stop me anyway.

I love too much, too fast, too hard, but it's too late now. I've got a devotion, a dedication that keeps me alive—to my job, to my word, to Lilly.


End file.
